Confidential
by Quatre-sama
Summary: Lord Wyldon approaches Alanna after her fight with George in TC... slight indications of Wyldon-Alanna non-platonic feelings consider yourself warned


Confidential 

Midsummer's Day – June 22nd, 462 H.E.

Trebond, in Northern Tortall

The celebration after the naming ceremony was unlike any Lord Wyldon had been to before.  Animals always behaved differently in the Wildmage's presence, but these were animals who were _not_ supposed to play nicely with one another: wolves and squirrels merely sniffed at each other, and the small family of marmosets flitted about from horse to wolf, occasionally mimicking the tiny bird skeleton when it left its perch on Lindhall Reed's shoulder.  

Strange animal behavior, however, was the least of Wyldon's worries.  Stormwings perched in the trees above, paying tribute to the woman who was rumored to have spoken for them among the greater gods.  Wyldon was not entirely comfortable with those who defiled corpses of soldiers for whom he had been responsible, no matter his regard for Veralidaine.  But more nerve-wracking than the Immortals was the presence of Daine's parents, minor gods who had left their realm for their grandchild's naming.  Weiryn was an especially favored god to the Lord of Cavall—one of the best hunters and trackers in the lands of Tortall—but this added no sense of comfort to being in his presence.  It was quite the contrary, Wyldon had learned.

So, while Numair chatted with gods and Daine introduced her daughter to the marmosets, Wyldon sat on a stump and relaxed with the wolves.  Brokefang rested his head in his lap, almost as though he were providing reassurance to the uneasy man.

"I've prayed without a whisper of a reply."  A choked voice reached Wyldon's ears.  Across the clearing, the Lioness stood with her spouse, Baron George of Pirate's Swoop.  They seemed to be having an intense conversation.  Wyldon could not hear her next words, but respectfully averted his eyes when she buried her face in her husband's chest.  She was crying—a feat Lord Wyldon had once thought impossible for her.

More murmurs were spoken between the couple before the baron left her side to speak to Sir Myles.  Alanna stood by herself, completely lost in thought.

Brokefang pushed against Wyldon's leg meaningfully.

"It is not my concern," Wyldon protested softly.  He made a point to never meddle in the affairs of a married couple, and tried his hardest to exchange as few words as possible with the Champion.

Brokefang lifted his head and gazed at Wyldon with level, intelligent eyes.

"You are right," Wyldon conceded.  "A distraction could not hurt her."

The large wolf joined the rest of his pack, who had gathered around Daine's horse—to reminisce, Wyldon suspected.  When he approached Alanna, he got the impression that she quite distinctly wanted to be left alone.  But he persisted.

"A walk, Lioness?" he suggested politely, gesturing to a forest path.  Most under his command would not perceive his tone as questioning, but more instructing.  The Lioness, however, was under no one's command save the king.

She studied him shrewdly.  "I'm not in the mood, Cavall."

"Which is why you might need it," he replied.  "The fact that you have not yet clenched your sword hilt or turned red with fury encourages me to think we might be able to have a civilized conversation."

Alanna smiled crookedly.  "I'm sure it's a matter of minutes before one of us has the urge to smite the other."

"Perhaps."  Wyldon set off down the path, knowing she could catch up, if only to find out why he wasn't challenging her stubbornness.  Nearly twenty years of cat-and-mouse games preceded them.  There were no two greater opposites in King Jonathan's court, and their spats were famed among nobles.  He had been most vocal when her sex was revealed, and her resentment had grown over time.  But so had his concept of what was acceptable for the realm.

"I thought you would like to know that a young lady has requested to train for her shield," he began, after several minutes of silent walking.

"And you've written your letters of protest to Ha Minch, I suppose?"

He glances at her out of the corner of his eye.  "On the contrary.  He asked me how I had arranged Mindelan's probation—he wanted to do the same.  I told him that there was nothing to be done, save perhaps accepting that there are always exceptions."

"Meaning…?"

"That some women have the fortitude and desire to overcome the odds that keep them from becoming warriors."  He felt her gaze, but when he looked at her, she had averted her eyes.

"So you support female warriors now?" she asked, her voice tart.

"Mindelan has shown me a lot."

Alanna let out a bark of a laugh.  "Yet you learned nothing from me?"  Her eyes were hard.  "Lord Wyldon, do you recall that while you were earning your accolades for saving the princes and princess, I had an army surrounding your fief, keeping your own family safe?"

He nodded curtly.  "And I knew that the Goddess favored you, and my family was protected by her will."  His eyes were equally hard.  "Do not think, Lioness, that I am ungrateful for your services to the crown.  Know that I sincerely apologize for just now realizing that you have earned the privilege to do so with as much _work_ as divine favor."

Alanna sighed, rubbing her eyes.  "And they say that you can't teach an old dog new tricks," she muttered.

Wyldon smiled dryly at her.  "I would also like to commend you one your work in Frasrlund."

She shrugged her shoulders.  "I do my best," she replied, distractedly.  "I owe my king and country nothing less."

They walked on in silence, matching each other's stride and pace.  Wyldon studied the Lioness: she quite clearly had her mind elsewhere.  But he was a patient man, and knew that she was not the type to hold feelings for too long.

He was not disappointed.  A quarter-mile later she halted, giving him an inscrutable look.  "How do you do it?" she asked softly.

"Do what?"

Alanna began walking again, this time at a faster pace.  She spoke rapidly.  "How do you manage to keep your professional life so detached from your personal life?  How do you prevent things from spilling over?  How does it not grate on every last nerve in your body to know that your children are in danger?  That your wife might not tell you what is happening at home?  That you are stuck doing your job when you are needed as a parent?"

Wyldon stopped abruptly.  He took her by the wrist, pulling her back to face him.  "What has happened?" he asked in a low voice.  This was not a side of Alanna he had ever seen before—except in the clearing with the baron.

Alanna hesitated for a moment, but then her face crumpled as she whispered: "My daughter has been missing since March."

There was but one manner Wyldon knew how to deal with this.  He took the Lioness in his arms and gave her the warmest, fiercest, and—he hoped—most comforting hug he'd ever shared with a woman other than his Lady Viven.  He coaxed the story out of her, offering his handkerchief when she looked as though she would weep.

"I don't know how to continue," she lamented.  "There's nothing I want more than to leave the army and search for her.  I want to ride off and forget about the war and the Scanrans."

"And it will get worse," Wyldon sighed.  "My son was killed in the Immortals War.   I was in Corus while he was in the Battle of Port Legann.  No day goes by without me blaming myself.  I should have had him in a safer place; I should have trained him better.  But the simple truth is that I was one man, doing my duty, and he was another, doing his."

Alanna remained quiet for a moment, digesting his words.  He could practically see the protestations running through her mind: "Aly is younger," "Aly isn't a trained warrior," "I practically chased her off."   But Alanna voiced none of these thoughts, if they were indeed the source of the trouble in her eyes.

"George did not tell me about her," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.  She looked up at Wyldon, her violet eyes full of tears again.  "I know he was trying to protect me, keep me from being distracted during battle."

"But you feel betrayed just the same?"

"A little," she answered with a nod.

A week before, had someone asked Wyldon to describe Alanna of Olau and Pirate's Swoop, he never would've included the words "maternal" or "insecure."  But here she was, confiding in him and sharing new facets of her personality that he never knew existed.

And Wyldon was drawn to her.

She was not beautiful, but he had never been besotted with particularly beautiful women.  She was undoubtedly smart, but lacked the strategical genius of her closest friends, King Jonathan or Buriram Tourakom.  No, the Lioness was strong-willed and stubborn and determined, and when those qualities were not in direct opposition to Lord Wyldon, he found them admirable.

To see her struggle over the separation of duty and family, though, reminded Wyldon of how very similar they were.  Her dedication to the king and her country was renowned.  He had seen her in battle during the Tusaine War, when he was a young knight and she was posing as a boy.  As Jonathan's squire she had given her all to protect him.  And as Champion, she gave no less.  She was clearly as devoted to her family—and to see her divided attention reminded him of his own more painful days in service to the crown.

"The baron loves you, Alanna" Wyldon said softly, using her given name for the first time in his life, that he could recall.  He cautiously wiped the tears away from her cheeks with his thumbs, his hands trembling as they framed her face.  He was not accustomed to stroking any face but Viven's in such an affectionate manner.  "The life of a knight is hard," he sighed, "but even more so when there is a family at home.  And loved ones who want to keep you safe will prevent you from learning a truth that could distract you."

She closed her eyes briefly, leaning into the palm of his right hand.  "You speak as though from personal experience," she commented.

He nodded, pulling away from her guiltily.  "My wife," he began haltingly, "did not inform me that our son was injured.  She had begged the king not to inform me, as well."

"For fear that you would become distracted?" Alanna asked, touching his arm sympathetically.  Her voice was softer than he had ever heard before.

Wyldon nodded.  "Could I have done my duty, knowing my only son was injured?  No, I kept to my post and fought my hardest to defend the palace, unaware that my wife, my king, my commanding officer were all keeping a secret from me."

Alanna looked away.  "We are more alike than I ever wished to know," she said with a harsh laugh.

"No," Wyldon replied, taking her chin in two fingers and pulling her to face him again.  "We are different because you have all ready forgiven your husband, and it took me a year to reconcile with Viven.  We are different because you will not lay down your sword, but trust others to fight your personal battle for you."  He kissed her forehead, not experiencing an ounce of the paternal air he had felt when he had kissed Mindelan the same way a year before.  "We are different because you will not lose your child."

Alanna smiled at him, revealing beauty he'd never seen in her before.  She took his hand and kissed his fingers gently, in a manner of neither king nor lover, but somewhere in between.  "You give me hope, Wyldon, and peace of mind.  And for that I thank you."


End file.
